


dreams of greatness

by Stars_dreaming (orphan_account)



Series: 88 MCU drabbles and oneshots [87]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arranged Marriage, BAMF Dora Milaje, Black Panther (2018) - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Physical Abuse, Rituals, Sweet T'Challa (Marvel), Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 09:10:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19460878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Stars_dreaming
Summary: Destined to be a great queen to a country lost in its traditional beliefs, she tries to stand by her decisions and make the world a better place.





	dreams of greatness

“Excuse me, miss Romanoff?”

“Yes?”

“These need your signature.”

T’Challa turned around at the soft voices behind them. Miss Romanoff stood in front of another woman, holding a few papers. Her movements were graceful and coordinated—much like the Black Panther himself. Another woman trailed behind T’Challa as he walked up to the redhead. “I suppose neither of us is used to the spotlight,” the prince said calmly, and miss Romanoff turned around, shaking her hair back just slightly.

“Well,” miss Romanoff responded, “it’s not always so flattering.”

T’Challa nodded, eyes trailing over the rest of the politicians in the room before returning to miss Romanoff. “You seem to be doing all right so far.” A pause. “Considering your last trip to Capitol Hill, I wouldn’t think you’d be particularly comfortable in this company.”

A corner of her mouth had curled up during their conversation, and she answered with ease. “Well, I’m not.” She looked at the ground before looking up at T’Challa once again, her mouth curved into a small smile.

“And that alone makes me glad you are here, miss Romanoff.”

“Why? You don’t approve of all this?”

The woman behind him shifted on her feet, clasping her hands behind her back. Miss Romanoff’s eye fell on her for a split second, before moving back to T’Challa.

“The Accords, yes. The politics, not really,” admitted the prince. The woman kept her emotions in check no matter how much she wanted to smile at his words. T’Challa still had much to learn about the politics in the outside world—as did she. “Two people in a room can get more done than a hundred.”

Now she could see T’Chaka approaching them with a light smile, overhearing his son’s last words. “Unless you need to move a piano,” the king said lightly, and miss Romanoff looked up in half surprise, while T’Challa turned just slightly and greeted his father, beaming.

T’Chaka turned his head just slightly, acknowledging her presence with a nod. “Eshe,” he said warmly, and Eshe smiled at him. “My king.”

“Baba,” T’Challa greeted him, and T’Chaka smiled. Eshe’s eyes and ears wandered off from the conversation as she looked around the conference room. Vienna was beautiful, and she regretted it that they would not stay long enough for her to search the streets and see new places. As much as she loved Wakanda, the outside world held… things that Wakanda did not.

In a place such as hers, leaving the conference room would be simply unthought of. She had to be here to support T’Challa and her king in their speech to support the Accords.

“—to hear that Captain Rogers will not be joining us today,” Eshe caught T’Chaka’s words.

“Yes, so am I,” miss Romanoff agreed. Eshe looked at T’Challa, whose eyes were still fixated on the pretty redhead in front of him.

Then, a loud voice echoed through the room. “If everyone could please be seated. The assembly is now in session.”

“That is the future calling,” said T’Challa, and both his father and miss Romanoff smiled. If Eshe’d been any other person, she wouldn’t have seen that the smile on miss Romanoff’s face seemed a bit forced. But she wasn’t, and she’d been trained as a Dora Milaje for years, so she caught onto it with ease.

“Such a pleasure,” T’Challa said to miss Romanoff, who now turned away. “Thank you.”

“Ngomntu ongavumelani nezopolitiko, ulungile kuyo,” said T’Chaka with a smile. “Ndiyavuya, ubawo,” T’Challa responded.

Eshe inched away as T’Chaka’s smile disappeared and he put his hand on T’Challa’s cheek, offering the smallest amount of affection they could afford to share in a public place like this.

As everyone sat down, T’Chaka’s hand fell away and T’Challa caught it, leaning down to press a kiss on it. “Enkosi,” the king said. T’Challa looked up and repeated the same before T’Chaka turned to Eshe.

“Ngaba uya kujoyina?” “Akukho nto eyayingenza ndonwabe, kumkani wam,” the woman responded with a warm smile, inclining her head. She gave T’Challa a nod before following the king to the stand.

“When stolen Wakandan vibranium was used to make a terrible weapon… we in Wakanda were forced to question our legacy. Those men and woman killed in Nigeria were part of a goodwill mission from a country too long in the shadows.”

Eshe’s eyes trailed through the room, over all the politician’s faces and up to the gallery where the reporters stood. There, pressed against the walls, she spotted several Dora Milaje.

“We will not, however, let misfortune drive us back,” T’Chaka spoke passionately. “We will fight to improve the world we wish to join.” Eshe spotted all the silent, calculating faces of the people in front of them. They did not know about everything that Wakanda had held behind—they did not know the true purpose of this… this joining the world in a search of an improved life for its inhabitants.

“I am grateful to the Avengers for supporting this initiative,” spoke T’Chaka. Eshe caught T’Challa’s eyes, who then turned and looked out the window. Where his posture had first been mildly relaxed, it was now replaced with tension and confusion. His brows were drawn together, and he narrowed his eyes.

Eshe, in turn, turned around as well, spotting the van on the street where several policemen were standing with barking dogs. “Wakanda is proud to extends its hand in peace.”

Eshe slowly inched forward, to the windows. People were yelling now and running around. She turned and looked at T’Challa, whose face contorted in a horrified expression.

Then, he ran towards Eshe and his father, yelling, “Everybody get down!”

The first thing Eshe did, was jump to reach for the king, who had now turned around and raised an eyebrow. “My king!” She yelled, before the explosion reached them. Her eyes widened as the king grabbed her hand and turned them so that he caught the brunt of it all and she would be protected.

“No—”

Darkness.

* * *

Eshe woke up in her own bedroom. Besides herself, there was nobody there. The sun was peeking through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making her bedroom bask in its golden light. Her eyes travelled over the simple wooden furniture in the room—her bed, the bedside table, the carpet draped on the ground, two cabinets and a mirror. Eshe had never had much need for intricate designs or luxurious furniture.

Panthers had been carved into the wood of her furniture and the carpet had been designed with the history of Wakanda—a vibranium statue of Bast stood proudly on one of her cabinets, for her to stand in front of and pray to the panther goddess of Wakanda.

There was no time to waste—she had to know what happened to T’Chaka, and if… if he was still alive.

Swallowing away the lump in her throat, she moved to step out of the bed, but was stopped by a burning pain in her leg. She yelped in pain, and her hands sought out the place where it burned—only to find a bandage and a sticky spot. When she pushed the sheets away, she uncovered her leg, bleeding through the bandage and onto the bed.

She didn’t even hear the door open and when two Dora Milaje grabbed her silently and carefully, she couldn’t even register their words.

“T’Chaka,” she murmured. “T’Chaka. Uphi?”

One of the Dora Milaje answered, but her voice faded away gradually as Eshe’s eyes closed again, and she was enveloped by darkness.

“I see you are up again,” Shuri stated, tone amused. Eshe glared at her, hobbling over to the princess’ worktable in her lab. “I need to be awake. Tell me what happened, Shuri.”

The princess’ faint smile dissipated, and she sighed. “You might want to sit down for this, then.” Eshe frowned. “What do you mean?” Shuri simply grabbed a chair and pushed the woman down on it.

“You’ve been out for days,” Shuri started. “We did not want to tell you what happened because we feared… we feared you might be upset.” Eshe nodded. She understood that reasoning—Wakanda needed their Golden Tribe to function properly if anything happened. Panicking was not recommended. “When the bomb exploded, you tried to shield my father.” Now, Shuri’s eyes welled up with unshed tears. “He… he pushed you away in an effort to protect you. A… and…”

Normally, Shuri was incredibly composed and calm. Eshe had always suspected that was a trait that the Golden Tribe shared. She had never seen T’Chaka angry, or Ramonda irritated, or Shuri frustrated. T’Challa was the only one who—despite his composed attitude—had a burning fire inside him that tended to show sometimes.

Eshe wasn’t a genius. But she was smart. Despite Shuri not saying the words, she understood what it all meant.

Tears were burning in her own eyes as well. She clasped her hand over her mouth and reached out to Shuri with her other hand. The princess allowed her to hold her hand for a moment before squeezing and stepping away.

“Our duty is to Wakanda,” she spoke, as composed as ever, as if she hadn’t been on the verge of tears just now. “ _Your_ duty lies to your country and your king. We will get our chance to mourn him properly once my brother returns.”

“My mother’s agreement had been made with your father,” Eshe retaliated. Shuri looked up from her new project, clearly surprised. Eshe got up from the chair. “And what does that mean, Eshe?”

“If I do not wish to, I will not marry your brother.”

The rest of her words remained unspoken, but Shuri understood them nonetheless. The princess nodded. “And will you tell him this?”

“It will be a secret shared by us,” answered Eshe, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t work too hard. You need time, Shuri.”

* * *

T’Challa arrived with Okoye and Ayo in the Royal Talon. Ramonda and Shuri awaited him on the helipad, together with several other Dora Milaje behind them.

The moment the prince stepped out on the ramp, Shuri smiled. “Brother, have you returned victorious?” She called out. T’Challa stepped aside and let through two more people, whom the young princess recognized as Captain Rogers and his friend, the Winter Soldier.

She frowned.

When T’Challa reached them with the two men behind them, his eyes were shining with concern. “Where is Eshe?”

“Your intended is currently resting,” Shuri said flatly. “Since you were gone, mother and I took care of her.”

Almost imperceptible, T’Challa winced. Ramonda waved her daughter’s obvious anger away. “What are these two men doing here?”

“I wish to help them,” answered T’Challa. Ramonda nodded, the epitome of placidity. “As you wish, my son. Perhaps we can speak of your other… actions once we’re alone. Nakia, Teela, take these two men to their quarters. Ayo, will you accompany Shuri back to Mount Bashenga?”

The Dora Milaje left with the visitors and the princess in tow, leaving Ramonda and T’Challa alone with Okoye.

“Can I see her?” The prince asked as his mother stepped away towards the Citadel. Ramonda smiled a patient smile. “Once she is awake, I am sure that she will be happy to see you and reprimand you for your actions.”

* * *

“You are no longer consumed with revenge.”

“I am not, ekujoliswe kuyo.”

Eshe was standing in front of the windows of her bedroom, arms crossed over each other. She remained silent.

“How are you feeling?” The prince asked.

She still didn’t answer.

“Please, talk to me.”

“You got yourself caught in a mess, T’Challa,” she eventually said. “You should have left the Avengers’ fight. It was personal.”

“I had as much right to fight against them as you do.”

“You were consumed by your anger, T’Challa. Can you tell me that you acted rationally?”

Ashamed, he shut his mouth.

“You loved him. I understand that. I loved him very much. But this… this agreement that our parents made for our marriage—it’s important. I am supposed to become your wife, T’Challa. You cannot run away and let yourself be consumed by your thirst for revenge when your country needs you to step up and take his place. You will be king.”

“And what if I do not want to be king?”

Now she turned around. “You have no more choice than I had. I never asked for this, T’Challa, and you’d do well to remember that. I have _never_ asked for the crown. But you are my friend. I want to help you. Don’t you see? You cannot do this alone.”

A beat of silence. She stepped forward and put her hands on his cheeks, drawing him a bit closer.

“You’re a good man, T’Challa. It will be difficult for you to be king.”

T’Challa licked his lips.

“You think you are not ready. I agree with you. But this country needs you. We don’t always get what we want.”

A pause.

“I’m sorry.”

* * *

“He is gone.”

Eshe stares at Okoye and Ayo with wide eyes.

“W… what?” She whispers, gripping the wood of her bed for support.

Okoye inclines her head and sighs. Ayo grips her Sonic Spear so tight her knuckles turn white. The other three Dora Milaje remain silent and vigilant.

“N’Jadaka overpowered him and… he threw T’Challa down the waterfall. There is no way he could have survived. Princess Shuri and the queen mother have escaped with Nakia’s help.”

“Nakia came to me to ask if I was willing to accompany them, but…”

“Your duty lies with your king, Okoye. N’Jadaka is your king now.”

“I might not have helped them, but I can help you, Eshe.”

“We can help you take cover—”

The door opens, revealing a grinning N’Jadaka in the door opening. Ayo stills and Okoye turns around, saluting. “My king,” she says grimly. N’Jadaka chuckles darkly. “And who do we have here? I haven’t seen you before.”

With a few strides, he stands in front of Eshe, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face to look at her. Eshe tenses but doesn’t move to stop him.

“T’Challa’s promised since birth,” she answers, her voice already thick with emotions. She might be good in showing nothing on her face, but not even she can conceal the sadness in her voice.

“Well,” N’Jadaka says cheerfully, “as the new king of Wakanda, I will break that agreement.”

Eshe blinks in confusion. What is the man getting at?

“Instead,” he says, taking her hand, “I can give you a place by my side.”

He continues, “Have you never wished that you had a say in your life? This family has held too much power over you, like they have held too much power over me. I can give you something else—something more powerful. I can give you your own life back. They have mistreated you and forced you into something you are not. What do you say?”

Eshe pulls her hand out of his grip and looks at him in disgust. “I say that they have been my family more than you have. I would rather die than be your queen.”

Ayo looks in shock as N’Jadaka hits her so hard she stumbles back, pressing her hand against her bleeding lip.

“Then die.” He spats coldly. Okoye glances between Eshe and her new king, unsure of what to do. Eshe waves her away.

N’Jadaka steps closer to the door before turning back, where Eshe slowly rises up with the help of her cabinet. In a few strides, he is with her again, and he grabs her shoulder and pushes her into the wall with all his force.

She falls to the floor, blood trickling out of her nose, eyes closed. One of the Dora Milaje rushes to her side. N’Jadaka shakes his head. “You will see your end soon enough. I hope you enjoy your last few days in your room.”

* * *

When T’Challa enters the Citadel once again, his mind is consumed with worry.

“My king, are you sure you should not rest?” Teela asks, barely keeping up with his long strides. T’Challa waves her words away. “I will rest once I find Eshe.”

He notices the way sadness clouds her face but doesn’t comment on it as he strides through the hallways of the Citadel, searching for the chambers of his intended wife-to-be.

He finds her in her bedroom, where she sits on her bed with her back towards him—towards the door. It worries him, because she usually is vigilant and tense, always watching the door to make sure nobody willing to do harm comes through.

But when she turns, he stops in his movements. There is an open wound in her lip, still bleeding, and her cheekbone is purple. Tears streak her face, and when they lock eyes, she presses her hand to her mouth and sobs ever so softly.

“Benze ntoni kuwe,” he whispers, but she doesn’t respond. With a few strides, he stands in front of her.

“You’re alive,” she mutters in disbelief, fear in her eyes. “By the Panther Goddess, T’Challa, how are you alive? They… they told me you were dead…” she reaches out and touches his cheek. Instead of pulling away from her warm touch, he leans into it and closes his eyes. With one hand, he covers hers—with the other, he pulls her a bit closer to him.

She’s here. She’s safe. They’re going to be okay.


End file.
